“It’s a lie,” said the other.
Jones moved toward him, and the other turned and ran. Jones ran after him.
In the meantime, Shirley, hunched almost on Gabriel’s neck, had ridden forth with the others. The reins she held in her right hand with the whip, while with the other she stroked her horse’s neck.
“You know me, don’t you, Gabriel?” she whispered.
Gabriel’s reply was a low whinny.
Shirley patted him gently.
“And we are going to win, aren’t we, Gabriel?”
Again the big horse whinnied.
At the post Shirley turned in alongside the others. Upon her right, nearest the rail outside, was another great black horse, and Shirley did not need to be told that this was Jupiter, the animal upon which the bookmakers were depending to win the race.
He was a wicked-looking brute, and his eyes were fiery red.